


the losers

by godsensei



Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool (2016), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, References to Drugs, Tumblr Prompt, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsensei/pseuds/godsensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well," Wade begins, slowly sliding his hands down Peter's back to cup his asscheeks in his hands, "I think you were about to tell me... how you enjoyed following me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the losers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [macrobleb](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=macrobleb).



> okay so, my good friend Em requested a drabble based on the song U R A Fever and two different scenes from the movie The Losers (which I have not seen, but it looks really interesting and so I just might watch it, haha). Since I have not seen it yet, though, I am going to take liberties here and just create an AU based loosely on what I saw in the two scenes. i am going to use the dialogue from the first scene she gave me, so if it seems familiar, it probably is, although i'm adding stuff, too, haha. she let me choose the pairing, but I think we both knew spideypool was going to happen....... ive rated this as mature for canon-typical violence, cussing, some unsavory content and maybe some more stuff later.

 

Wade lets the stranger into his (honestly trashy looking) hotel room (it's filled with liquor, there might've been a rat here this morning) with honest intentions. Mostly.

Okay, fine, the stranger is so thick it'd be a sin not to squeeze his ass _at least_ once. Also, he's totally going to kill him.

It's not that he really wants to-- pretty face like that-- but he's a mercenary (who is on another job, thank you) and he doesn't take too kindly to people following him around. Which is what this kid's been doing half the entire day. Amateur.

First, though, Wade must touch the butt.

The stranger, who called himself Peter upon meeting in the bar close by (Wade is 85% sure it's a fake name, considering Peter is an awful name-- people use the word ' _peter_ ' as a euphemism for _dick_ ), really is very easy on the eyes. He's lithe, almost tiny, even though it's obvious he works out. He's wearing sinfully tight _everything_ , his hair ruffled like he's already been fucked. When he turns, he lifts a brow, his brown eyes shining with mischief.

Oh, Wade fucking _bets_.

Wade sidles on up to him, circling around him like he's simply checking him out (which is definitely happening), but his eyes are scouting out potential weapons. Mercenary first, Walking Sex God second.

"Where were we now?" Peter says, his Bolivian accent thick, stepping in close to Wade's space. His hand slips up to play with the buttons of Wade's shirt. He licks his lips and looks at Wade's mouth, meeting his eyes coyly.

"Well," Wade begins, slowly sliding his hands down Peter's back to cup his asscheeks in his hands, "I think you were about to tell me... how you enjoyed following me?"

He squeezes. _God_ , that's good stuff.

Peter has the decency to look chagrined. "You saw me, didn't you?"

"I did," Wade agrees, grinning in delight. Peter watches his scarred lips stretch as if he really wants to kiss them, which is a serious turn on. Not a lot of people want to kiss his mouth. Their loss. He's gives an _excellent_ tonguing, as detailed on his Craigslist personals ad. Peter looks back up at Wade with Bambi eyes.

"I bet you didn't see me on Mercado Street," Peter breathes, so close Wade can feel his breath against his lips. 

Hmm, he didn't-- _but_ he continues grinning at Peter as if that wasn't the case, until the act is up and Peter's face falls flat.

"I have a business proposition for you, Deadpool," Peter admits.

"Oops," Wade says, "what happened to your accent?"

The click of a gun sounds into the silence.

"Oops," Peter simpers. Fuck.

Wait, Wade totally didn't see any weapons-- where was he _keeping_ that thing?

Wade ponders on this as he lashes out with an arm, Peter dodging by dropping to the ground, bouncing up quick as lightning with the gun drawn. Wade doesn't play that shit, so he yanks Peter's arms to the side. Peter lets out a shout as the gun flies from his grip, falling behind one of the dingy drawers beside the bed. The momentum of Wade's counter sends him tripping backwards, and he uses the bed to flip over back onto steady feet.

He bends his legs, looking up at Wade with confident eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
Wade thinks it's adorable. He likes Dick-- sorry, Peter.

"You're not going to," Wade retorts, and sees Peter lift a brow, grin slipping onto his face.

"Oh, yes I _am_." He doesn't even pause before he's spinning, gripping a chair and throwing it at Wade. It hits Wade's arms, and he shouts, some of the chair busting on his limbs. Peter takes the distraction and slams a hard fist against Wade's chest, following up with a kick to the stomach.

Wade slams into the wall behind himself, the wind knocked out of him.

"Good Lord, we should've fucked," he says after a moment, and Peter is there, trying to grip his neck. Wade comes at him with an explosive hit to the stomach instead, which has Peter doubling over. He grabs Peter's absolutely wonderfully soft hair, he's _gotta_ use argan oil or some shit, and lifts him up to full height. Peter is agile, though, and pulls a complicated maneuver that has his arm hooked up under Wade's so he can grip his throat.

He pulls, and wow, he's trying to break Wade's arm, that is _hurtful_ , but Wade isn't having it. He slams Peter into the wall, then finds himself being kneed in the side, and turned about by the shoulders as Peter land his ass in the soft hotel chair (Wade checked when he got here, this one's definitely the softest), forcing Wade to bend.

What he doesn't expect is to have his balls compromised, a foot prompting him to hold his poor, abused nads and yell a bit. Peter isn't merciful though, and has no respect for the Bro Code, because he immediately hits him with a sharp elbow, instead of giving Wade mourning time.

Wade's balls have faced worse, and so he doesn't waste time in slamming Peter against a wall again. To think-- they could've been doing this, but in much sexier way. Why had he revealed he saw Peter following him? Bad Deadpool!

Wade pulls his fist back, aiming at Peter's face, but finds it going through the wall instead as Peter evades it, the slippery bastard. Peter lands a few kicks, but now Wade's just getting pissed, and he backhands the shit out of him. Peter goes down with a strangled cry.

Peter moans, but gets on his hands and knees, crawling away from Wade, who is just too winded to do anything but catch his breath. He admires Peter's ass, too, though. Peter turns when he reaches a good distance, letting out an exhausted laugh as he meets Wade's grin. He's panting with effort, but he stands anyway, and goddamn his endurance is a turn on.

He does chuck Wade's good alcohol at him, though, that's kinda not a turn on.

Wade dodges, but doesn't exactly anticipate the second chair that's been thrown at him tonight. It breaks into pieces against him, and Peter high kicks him in his face. He goes in for another, but Wade catches his leg and holds it up high. Aw, shit, flexible, too? Now Wade's really sad.

He makes a sturgeon face, then throws the leg to the side, but Peter uses the momentum to bend down, and draw his leg up from behind-- landing the kick. Wade struggles with balance for a moment, and barely has time to react when a TV gets lobbed at him. It crashes to the ground when it misses, sparking and starting a fire on the carpet.

Peter tries to push him down, but it backfires and Wade flips him onto the ground, crawling on top of him.

"Shouldn't we truce? I said, 'Lord Jesus, it's a fire!'"

Peter ignores him, because ain't nobody got time for that, bringing his thighs up to choke Wade. Personally, he thinks it wouldn't be such a bad way to die, but he didn't really schedule it in, so it'll have to wait. He lifts Peter all the way up, thighs and all, and backs him into a wall, holding him there. One of Peter's legs is still hooked over his shoulder, and Wade takes a moment to enjoy his writhing and panting.

"Hi," he says, cheerfully, as Peter clenches at his shirt in pain.

"Hi," Peter breathes, and then pushes Wade's chin up and away. Wade can see that the fire has progressed towards the ceiling like this. Nifty.

He spins them, Peter screaming as they twist in the air and land on the bed. Wade sits on Peter's hips and begins to choke him, but Peter uses both arms to break the hold and go for, you guessed it, another nut shot. Will Peter not think of the children?

Peter grabs a glass from the bedside table and busts it over Wade's head, both of them tumbling off of the bed so that Peter's on top this time. He goes to punch him, but Wade grabs his fist. Peter reaches for a jagged piece of broken chair and strikes out, but Wade grabs that hand, too.

His arm trembles with effort against the strength of this little guy.

"What do you want?" he growls.

"I can help you get back into SHIELD," Peter pants, chest heaving. Fire illuminates his fierce face, and if Wade didn't want to kill him, he'd say he's half in love with him. But SHIELD? This kid has connections that high up? Color him interested.

"I'm listening," Wade answers, and Peter collapses onto his chest. Together, they breathe heavily for several minutes.

 

\--------------

 

After they make the hotel fire look like an accident, and Wade grabs his last good bottle of whiskey, they find another hotel. Of which they must share a room, on Peter's insistence. It doesn't bother Wade too much, especially now, as Peter exits the bathroom with nothing but a towel on.

There's droplets of water dripping down his exposed skin. He really is tiny, but ripped, like a ballerina. There are old scars and new bruises littering his skin, and he smiles boyishly when he sees Wade looking, like he's embarrassed. He sits on his bed, making sure to keep the towel covering everything.

"So, whacha got for me, Kid? What's the job?" Wade prompts, sitting crossed legged on his own bed. He's a little excited, both physically _and_ mentally. There's not much that poses a challenge to him these days, and it's a little taxing to get drunk any time he has free time to escape the crippling loneliness and boredom.

"Why does everyone call me kid?" Peter murmurs. He pulls at some thread on the towel, playing with it.

"You've got a cute face," Wade answers, though he knows the question was rhetorical. Peter scowls without any heat, but gives up playing with the thread for sighing.

"Have you heard of a man named Ajax?" Peter asks, and Wade freezes all over, rage filling his veins.

"Heard of him? He's the one personally responsible for this mutilated thing I call my face."

Peter furrows his brows, frowning.

"You don't--" Peter begins, but seems to think better of it, shutting his mouth with a click.

"Yeah, I know Francis. Yeah, _Francis_ , buddy. You'd think that was the reason he turned into a massive asshole casserole. Nope. He's just sipping on that asshole juice," Wade rants.

"Huh," Peter says.

"What about my dear old pal, Franny?" Wade asks sweetly. Peter rolls his eyes.

"Ajax--"

"Francis."

"--has a man named Bucky Barnes held captive. His best friend, Steve, would really like to get him back. Steve was recently injured, and he entrusted me with the retrieval of Mr. Barnes. The first attem--"

"Hold up! Wait a minute! (Fill my cup put some liquor in it.) Did you just say Steve? As in Steve Rogers? As in Steven Grant Rogers of The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?"

"Uh, yes--"

"I'm in," Wade says, and Peter gapes at him.

"Wait, so, you hear the name Steve Rogers and suddenly you agree to anything? If I knew that, I wouldn't have kicked your ass so bad."

Wade snorts obnoxiously.

"I've been idolizing that man since he graduated before me and became all the things I've ever wanted to be. I live vicariously through him. His interests are my interests. So if this Bucko Barn is in trouble, then we have to save him. Also, that wasn't even fighting, it was more like really enjoyable foreplay."

"One, it's Bucky Barnes. Pretty Steve cares if you get his name right. Two, that's really sad, you need a hobby. Three, I promise not to punch you in front of anyone."

"My hobby is killing people," Wade says, and Peter blinks at him and then looks away.

"Yes, I suppose it is. So," he meets Wade's eyes, "you'll really help me, though, right? I've already attempted to gather intelligence on the whereabouts of Aj-- Francis' base, but so far there's been nothing. My leads have run dry." Peter clenches the bedsheet, looking very young.

"Don't you worry your pretty little heart over leads-- I know somebody that knows somebody that knows somebody," Wade declares. "But for now, let's get some rest."

"Sounds good," Peter says. "I'll go get my clothes."

"You don't have to."

"Wade."

"In fact, you don't even have to sleep in your own bed." Wade wiggles the place where his eyebrows should be.

" _Goodnight_ ," Peter stresses, "don't wait up."

He leaves the room, closing the door with a soft click.

 

\--------------

 

Wade wakes abruptly, with a half-formed sentence on his tongue and a vague sense of confusion. So, the usual. The bed next to him is empty, but the chair near the table by the window is occupied with a hot young stud ready to be--

"Brazzers voice, whoops," Wade says aloud, and Peter looks up from whatever it is he's pouring over to grin at Wade. Shit, he's fucking cute when he's not harming Wade's _huevos_ , even in the nerdy glasses he's wearing to read.

"Good morning," he says, his voice a little sleep roughened, hair tousled like he tosses and turns a lot. It makes Wade's stomach swoop a little bit, which is awful and very Not Good™.

"Do I smell pancakes?" Wade asks as he throws the covers off, bouncing up and out of the bed. He slept in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, even though they smell like burning hotel room.

"Room service," Peter clarifies, reaching for a steaming cup of coffee and taking a sip. The heat fogs his glasses a bit and he blinks until it clears.

"Save some for me?" Wade asks, hopefully. Peter nods, distracted again by the files in front of him. Wade slips into the chair across from him, making himself a plate and pouring himself some of the coffee. Wade's a HUGE fan of pancakes. You could say he's a fancake-- no, okay, no that's a bad joke.

He looks up at Peter again once he starts shoveling pancakes in his mouth, taking in the details. Peter looks young, probably mid-twenties. He bites on his thumb as he furrows his brows, eyes drinking in words and processing them at what Wade is sure is an impressive speed. In the light of the sun, his eyes look almost amber, framed by thick, dark lashes that brush his high cheekbones when he looks down. His nose is straight, full lips pursed as he reads.

"Whacha reading there, buddy?" Wade asks, stealing some of Peter's uneaten pancakes.

Peter doesn't look up from the files when he answers. "Notes and details about Bucky's disappearance, and a collection of all the leads I've already been through."

He passes a piece of paper to Wade, who goes over the list of names. He knows most of them, but he also knows that most of them wouldn't know anything about Francis. It's good work, because they are connected to Francis' line of work-- extortion, human trafficking, and human experimentation. You know, ordinary stuff.

"These people wouldn't know anything about Francis, although you're on the right track," Wade says, sliding the paper back across the table. "We need to start at the crack house."

"Excuse me?" Peter asks, but Wade is already getting up, striding across the room to pick up his bag. "Wait--a crack house?"

"Yeah, you know, where I live," Wade explains. "Blind Al lives there. She's a great landlord, considering I've only ever paid rent, like, once. And it was a foot rub. As in, she was rubbing my feet."

Peter lifts his eyebrows, and purses his lips, nodding. Then he furrows them, looking down at the floor as if he's truly considering the words.

"Anyway, that's where all my shit is," Wade finishes, shoving his half-empty whiskey bottle back into the bag and pulling a few weapons out from under his mattress to put them in the bag as well. "Got a passport?"

Peter stands, shuffling the papers back together as neatly as he can before he puts them into files, tucking everything back into the bag he retrieved from his own previous hotel room.

"That's a yes. Do you?" Peter asks, because he's a smart boy.

"I mean, it passed the first time around. I don't see why it wouldn't this time," Wade says, shrugging. He didn't get targeted or anything in the States before he left, _duh_. He's white. Horribly disfigured, but totally white.

"Uh-huh," Peter drawls out, shouldering his bag. "Well, I'm ready if you are."

"I wonder how big the airplane bathroom is," Wade ponders aloud as they make their way to check out.

"No," Peter says.

Well, shit.


End file.
